Visit, and the result of it was, that the youngest should tax

Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first coming into the

country to give a ball at Netherfield.

Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine

complexion and good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her

mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early

age. She had high animal spirits, and a sort of natural

self-consequence, which the attention of the officers, to whom

her uncle's good dinners, and her own easy manners recommended

her, had increased into assurance. She was very equal,

therefore, to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and

abruptly reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be

the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His

answer to this sudden attack was delightful to their mother's ear:

"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and

when your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the

Very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing

when she is ill."

Lydia declared herself satisfied. "Oh! yes--it would be much

better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely

Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have

given _your_ ball," she added, "I shall insist on their giving one

also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he

does not."

Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth

returned instantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations'

behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the

latter of whom, however, could not be prevailed on to join in

their censure of _her_, in spite of all Miss Bingley's witticisms on

_fine eyes_.

Chapter 10

The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst

and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the

Invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the

evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. The

loo-table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and

Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his

letter and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to

his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs.

Hurst was observing their game.

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently

amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his

companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady, either on

his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length

of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises

were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in

union with her opinion of each.

"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"

He made no answer.

"You write uncommonly fast."

"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."

"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the

course of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should

think them!"

"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours."

"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."

"I have already told her so once, by your desire."

"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you.